A Question of Succession
by Ness Frost
Summary: The Round Table has decided: Integra Hellsing is in need of an heir. A male heir, if at all possible. Everything has been arranged. A suitable husband has been chosen. The paperwork has been completed. There's just one tiny little snag: nobody has bothered to consult with Integra Hellsing.


"Gentlemen, I fear that I've misunderstood you." Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing calmly looked over the rest of the table, idly holding a cigar between her fingers. "Because I _thought_ ," she brought the cigar to her mouth, "that I just heard you tell me you intended to marry me off like some medieval princess."

In the silence that followed as she flicked her lighter, it would have been possible to hear a pin drop. It wasn't until the flame had been snuffed again in a brief _whoosh_ , and the end of her cigar glowed red with the tiniest crackle of long-dried leaves, that anyone spoke up to reply to her statement—it carried far too much finality to be honestly called a question.

"There's been no misunderstanding, Sir Integra." Sir Pelham had once faced down terrorist machine gun fire without a single flinch, and his air of calm command now continued to serve him well as he gazed serenely across the table at his lone female counterpart. Her only response was to raise an eyebrow at him, inviting him to continue.

"The fact is, Sir Hellsing," Sir Gladstone picked up the thread, after looking briefly to Sir Pelham, who gave him a nod of permission, "that yours is a family-run organization—and you are the last surviving member of your family."

"Both of those things are quite true." Taking the cigar out of her mouth, she snuffed it into the ashtray; all of the other members of the Round Table relaxed slightly at her calm delivery and apparent lack of resistance. "But," they promptly stiffened again, as Integra ground the cigar slowly down and down, never taking her eyes off of them as what was in her hand fell apart bit by bit into a loose lump of partially-burned tobacco leaves in the middle of the ashtray, "you have failed to explain how either of them is _relevant_."

"I'm afraid that they are quite relevant." This time, it was Sir Cromwell who took up the reins. Sir Pelham and Sir Gladstone shot each other a dubious look across the table. Sir Islands let out an audible sigh. Sir Penwood twiddled his thumbs nervously and looked as if he would rather be _anywhere_ else. " _As_ the last surviving member of your family, you currently have no one to whom to pass on the leadership of the Hellsing Organization should something… unfortunate occur. You have no _heir_ , Sir Integra, nor without a husband any means of producing one in the immediate future. You are young now, but the day will come when the Hellsing Organization must pass into someone else's hands. You are at the perfect age for childbearing, and we have arranged a union with a good, capable man who could take over some of the most strenuous duties of running the organization—not to mention attending the Round Table. Surely, you do not wish to deprive yourself of the opportunity of starting a family of your own." Integra's fist clenched against the table. "Think of it as… an investment we are making, for the sake of your future."

"I see. It seems that I haven't misunderstood you at all." Integra's voice was still calm. Sir Penwood's face was now in his hands. "You have decided, without my knowledge or consent, that I am in need of a husband. You have chosen, without consulting me, exactly who that husband will be. You have made up your minds, solely on the basis of my position and my sex, that I am not only in need of and ready for children, but that I want them at all. _Now_ do I have the right of it?"

"You are young yet," Sir Acton said with an air of great patience. "Someday, you will come to realize that your responsibilities are not always in line with what you _want_." He took a moment to polish his glasses. Integra's gloves creaked slightly as her fists clenched harder. "Your duty, to Queen and country—"

"You speak to me of duty." She had not spoken loudly, but at her interruption Sir Acton snapped his mouth shut, waiting. Sir Penwood let out an audible whimper. "Yet, it is for duty that I sit at this table. It is for duty that I continue to run my family's organization. It is for _duty_ , gentlemen, to Queen and country, that I keep a tame vampire, and hunt down the rest." The Round Table members shifted uneasily at the mention of the inhuman monster that Integra kept in the basement of the Hellsing Manor with the easy nonchalance that anyone else would speak of a pet dog. "Do not presume to tell me what my _duty_ is." If her voice had been calm before, it was now pure ice.

"Sir Hellsing, be reasonable—"

"You lot sit here like schoolboys, instructing me on how best to run an organization that you've never touched." She shook her head in disgust. "Don't speak to me of _reason_." Integra stood, pushing her chair out from the table. "We're done here."

Still exuding that deadly, icy calm, she turned, and walked from the room.

* * *

"Did I or did I not tell you," Sir Penwood began, slamming one hand down on to the table while the other pressed against his forehead as if to stave off an oncoming headache, "that this was a horrible idea?"

"You did indeed warn us that she would be uncooperative." Sir Cromwell rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his chin. "In that, you were unfortunately correct. Even so, it was important to give her a chance to do this of her own volition."

"Of her own—are you _mad?_ We are not an island of barbarians! What do you plan to do—tie her up and force her to the altar at gunpoint?"

"Of course not." Sir Islands scoffed. He turned to the other Round Table members. "I, for one, am in agreement with Penwood. It is her will, and she has clearly expressed it. Most women will eventually marry and have children without any encouragement, if left to their own devices—and even supposing Sir Hellsing does not, surely in this day and age there are other solutions to be found which do not require having an heir of the blood." He laid his hands down on the table, as if to compare the scenarios. "Employing a bit of creative thinking ought to be far easier than going through both the No Life King and the Angel of Death for the purpose of forcing Sir Hellsing into something to which she is so vehemently opposed."

Sir Cromwell did not seem to hear him. "There is," he mused, still rubbing his chin, "still one more thing to try. She may still say yes, if only we make it too costly for her to keep saying no."

Penwood, Islands, and Walsh looked at each other. Finally, Sir Walsh spoke for all of them. "If you insist on continuing with this foolishness," he said, "you'll do it without us."

* * *

"I already gave you my answer, Cromwell."

He ignored the fact that she did not use his title, instead choosing to answer her levelly, as if her disrespect had been beneath his notice. "You misunderstand us—a fact for which I will take the full blame. We should have made ourselves clear to begin with." He leaned in close, the other members of the Round Table gathering at his back for support. "This is not a request."

Integra had not stopped the writing she was working on throughout the entirety of this conversation, as if her fellow Round Table members were no more worthy of her attention than a child come begging for sweets; now, however, she capped the pen, set the papers aside, and rested her elbows on the table, folding her hands under her chin. "I might have misunderstood _you_ ," she conceded, "but I am not mistaken about the law, nor about the time period in which we are living." Some of the men in the group exchanged uneasy glances. "You have no grounds on which to force me." She reached, once again, for the papers. "Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a job to do."

"I did not want to have to resort to this." Integra's eyes slid back to Cromwell, who was rubbing the bridge of his nose. "But unfortunately, you leave me no choice." He lowered his hand, and met her eyes. "It is true that we cannot legally force you into marriage; you have the right of that. We do, however, have a say in whether you are a fit leader for the Hellsing Organization, and we do have a vote in your budget." He paused, and let that statement hang in the air. The implications of what he was threatening were clear.

Still, Integra said nothing, and the men stood there sweating nervously for a moment before Sir Acton picked up the thread. "The man we have in mind is competent, and a of a good bloodline. Surely you can see—what's funny?"

For as he had spoken, the corners of Integra's mouth had begun to turn upward. Even as Acton fell silent, the smile was turning into a low chuckle. The Round Table members looked at each other uneasily; whatever reaction they might have been expecting, it hadn't been this.

"I was just contemplating the irony," she said at last, reaching into a desk drawer. "Here you are, putting so much thought and concern into _my_ replacement." She lifted her hand, eyes narrowed, training the barrel of the gun on the paralyzed Round Table members. "What you _should_ be worried about is _your own_."

* * *

Integra didn't look up as a red-clad head and shoulders melted their way through the seemingly solid wall behind her desk. Instead, she finished shuffling the paperwork before her into a neat pile before lighting a fresh cigar. "I take it you completed your mission, Alucard?"

"Exactly as you ordered, my Master." He grinned down at her, exposing his fangs. "But I hear you had some excitement of your own while I was away." His red eyes gleamed with bloodlust.

"A minor disagreement with the Round Table." She took a long drag on her cigar, and exhaled the smoke out over the desk. "It was nothing that I couldn't handle."

* * *

From then on, if any other members of the Round Table had any more bright ideas about forcing Integra Hellsing into an unwanted marriage, they kept it to themselves.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sadly, I cannot take credit for that "you should be worried about your own replacement" line. Ultimate Black Ace came up with it. (I did use it with permission.)

I left it deliberately ambiguous whether Integra actually murdered anyone, or whether she just intimated them into respecting her own choices about her own personal life. So much more trouble to train respect into a whole new generation, after all.

The second I found out that forcing Integra into an arranged marriage so that Alucard can come rescue her is an actual thing that people write, I pretty much HAD to parody it. There are so many logical fallacies with that plot:

-This is a late 20th century, first world country and forcing someone into marriage is in no way legal or socially acceptable

-Trying to pull this on someone who's wealthy + has enormous political clout + terrifying vampire servant whose sole loyalty is to her personally = way more trouble than it's worth

-We're not in the Middle Ages here; there are seriously better ways to pass on leadership than insisting that everyone's heirs be their biological children

-That Alucard's interference is even _needed_ to resolve this. Seriously, it's a complete waste of his abilities.

-Finally, this is _Integra Hellsing_ we're talking about. Do you know this character at all?


End file.
